Chronically Unfaithful
by lucerito-del-alma
Summary: In the serene calm of the morning, Tonks asks her lover a delicate question, as means of a confession: what would you do if I slept with someone else?


Disclaimer- I own nothing. Well, I own two desks, a pair of bookshelves and a broken mate with a crappy bombillo. I don't even own my bed. So there's no point in sueing me anyway…

A/N- inspiration came out of the blue while studying for exams. The male character is an OC, he serves to analye on how I see Tonks, and the type of guy I see her ending up with. I loved writing it, so I hope you enjoy!

**Chronically Unfaithful**

"What would you do if I slept with someone else?"

The question broke the afternoon's quiet serenity so abruptly he didn't even have time to process it. She was still looking out the window as if it were nothing, oddly intrigued by whatever was below, seemingly unaware of what she'd actually asked.

"… And… where did this question come from?" he inquired. She'd been sitting in the windowsill for over an hour now, quietly letting him work, alternating her attention from her coffee to the cars passing by outside. She'd looked so peaceful he would never have guessed her thoughts had led her down that particular path… and to his own surprise it actually bothered him to be asked that particular question.

Women rarely began on the subject of infidelity with a rhetorical question if they had already strayed. Usually that particular question was just bait, a trap set up to stroke their egos. And usually he had no patience for women so insecure they sought comfort in his jealousy. A simple _"nothing, it's your body isn't it?" _tended to solve the problem; the girl in question would just storm away in an offended huff, much to his amusement. But he had never really expected _her_ to ask it.

It actually genuinely bothered him that _she_ had asked it. She seemed reasonable enough, secure enough, so where did she get off asking him something like that? He'd expected her to be better than that, he realised irritably.

"Well, your downstairs neighbour is currently snogging someone that's definitely not her husband," she said distantly, peeking downwards curiously. "And, actually, her lover seems to be the girl from that pub near my flat."

He choked on his coffee, trying to bite back a laugh. "You're joking" he stated.

"No, I'm dead serious," she said, wincing slightly at her ironic choice of words and then looking back out the window, "you can come and check if you don't believe me."

"You realise what you're doing is called prying, don't you?" he laughed. To his surprise and amusement she looked up at him in shock, clearly confused and somewhat offended.

"Why should I look away when it's clearly within my view?" she asked, "If you're bringing your mistress to the marital den, it's enough of a statement, independent of how many people are watching. Besides, there are not enough happy people around here; it's nice to see some affection, adulterous though it may be."

A soft laugh escaped his lips. Still standing by the window, she almost resembled a five year old. Despite her "wild" lifestyle; perhaps because of it, there still was some purity to her. In her own environment, far from the darkness of her work, she was carefree and uninhibited, with a childlike stance on right and wrong, an innocence purely hers.

"You're right," he shrugged noncommittally, realising he was not going to win from a woman who had been sitting on the windowsill to the street wearing nothing but his shirt for hours, but failed to see the need to cover up if she wasn't cold. He was talking to a woman who took care of the hair colour she used, afraid to give completely the wrong impression, but could see nothing wrong with reducing her wide trousers to a minimal form in male company simply because they could get muddy or torn. Some of her rights and wrong were different to his, they were the same yet polarly different, and he would have her no other way

For a moment, he turned back to his work, taking the conversation as finished. Trying to remember how exactly the sentence he had left unfinished continued, he suddenly remembered what caused the distraction to begin with, at exactly the same time she did. He looked up at her to find her cocking her head to peer at him. Then, suddenly, she jumped off the windowsill.

"You never answered the question, you know?" she insisted, walking slowly toward him. He snapped his eyes up at her in irritation, and noticed there was something calculated about her walk, something guarded in her stare… she was scared of his answer.

So she really was no different. Great.

"I don't see why you want to know," he retorted irritably. In the back of his mind, alarm bells went off. If she really was like them he was better off just cutting her off now, so what was he doing putting off answering the question? All it took was a simple sentence:

_Nothing, it's your body isn't it?_

"Would it kill you to humour me?" she asked slowly, surprisingly calm. It was almost nonchalant, if not for the determination behind her big, curious eyes. He reached his hand to his temples instinctively; she was giving him a head ache before she even began.

All of a sudden her stance changed, darkened, her steps longer, falling harder. Her hands landed on his desk as she caught his gaze, her eyes probing and determined.

"Would it kill _you_ to humour _me_?" he retorted, rising from his chair slowly. "Why do you want to know? Just how hypothetical is this question, Nymphadora?" He kept the intonation level, as if he were jealous, desperate to interrogate her yet seem casual.

To his surprise, she let out a soft, laughing sigh and sat down on the corner of his desk. "You're a paranoid git, you know?" she asked, sounding somewhat bored, "and for the last time, don't call me that! But if you must know, it's because I'm pathologically incapable of fidelity, and I want to know just how much of a scene you will make when this all comes to its inevitable end."

He felt his jaw drop open slightly, his eyes suddenly seeking contact with hers desperately. He'd never even considered that answer. It had never occurred to him that he would one day meet someone who saw things in exactly the same way as he did.

She smiled gently at his face, and gave his chin a little push upwards with one finger. "I do care about you," she insisted gently, "but I just can't see the point of tying down body OR soul to just one person. Never have, never will. So if this is going to end in explosion, I'm better off knowing now, so I can see what I can do to contain the damage."

A smile crept over his as he regained his capacity of speech.

"I don't think anyone has ever been this relieved to hear something like that," he sighed out contentedly. He paused. "You're the first rational woman I've ever met."

She looked at him in confusion. "Are you telling me you're perfectly alright with it?" she confirmed. He saw a glimpse of hope and relief in her eyes.

"Woman, if I've told you once I've told you a million times. Commitment isn't my thing…" he said offhandedly, trying to mask some of his relief. "I can't actually think of a better genetic impairment for you to have, it's quite similar to mine. I'm not, never have been and never will be a fountain of affection and attention, and it's useful that you would look for it somewhere else without contempt for me."

He paused, trying to word his next argument carefully. "Besides," he started, then stopped. It wasn't exactly a nice thing to say to her, that he wanted her to cheat because it meant no hassle if he did too, but if he didn't set the limits now, this could go incredibly wrong.

He sat down in front of her, on the corner of the couch, trying to read the look in her eyes. There still seemed an underlying curiosity, and a small spark of vulnerability. Suddenly he realised just what she was testing, she wanted to know what she meant to him. It wasn't a matter of fidelity or possession or insecurity, she just wanted to know if he cared.

He suppressed a smile, for all the complaining women did about male incapacity to take a hint, they were sometimes just as oblivious to what was in front of them.

"Besides," he repeated, "it means I won't lose you if I give in to the urge to explore elsewhere."

The corner of his mouth crept up in satisfaction as a blush crept up her cheeks and she let out a soft laugh. "How romantic," she said a laugh.

"Of course," he laughed, pulling her onto his lap, "because that's the sole reason you're with me."

"Well… no, not really," she said, "but I'll keep my motivations to myself!"

He laughed, if she was out to play mysterious femme fatale, she'd met her match. "Really?" he challenged, "and here I was, ready to share my main motive to be with you."

"Yet another reason?" she retorted playfully, pulling her hands to her cheeks"Oh, stop!" she cried, "You're making me blush!"

She leaned slightly out of his arms to face him and leered up at him, "But let me guess: best shag you've ever had?"

He mulled over her proposal with a smile. "Not quite, what I was going for," he grinned, "but I think I'll take you up on that claim before telling you, what do you say?"

She winked in response, and he pulled her back onto the couch. They laughed softly, feeling a peace at long last, unaware that it was the elusive feeling of belonging, of commitment, was starting to settle happily into to their chronically unfaithful hearts.

END


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